


take me over, don't tell a soul

by asymmetric



Category: 5 Seconds of Summer (Band)
Genre: Barebacking, Kilt Sex, M/M, secret bro sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-08
Updated: 2015-06-08
Packaged: 2018-04-03 12:00:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,392
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4100194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asymmetric/pseuds/asymmetric
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's ridiculously easy to spread his legs in the kilt, thighs falling open like he's wearing nothing at all, only the brush of fabric on the outside of his legs there to remind him that he's technically decent. Something about it seems dirty—he squeezes a little at his dick through the kilt, thinking about girls in skirts, thinking about wearing a proper skirt himself, thinking about Ashton's legs in his kilt. </p><p>(kilts and secret bro sex)</p>
            </blockquote>





	take me over, don't tell a soul

**Author's Note:**

> so 5sos wore kilts in the encore at a show in Glasgow and i was like omg
> 
> and i had a lovely anon in my ask from like three weeks ago who asked for cashton porn and i was like gosh anon i know it has taken me a while but i have the perfect inspiration now
> 
> unbetaed and probably a lil too eager, but like...kilt sex.

When Calum gets off the stage at Glasgow, he's burning, body, mind, and spirit. The cheers behind him are like a wall of heat, flame at his back. He can feel air on his thighs and knees, and it keeps tricking his brain into thinking he was really naked in front of all of those people, little shots of misplaced adrenaline shooting through him even once he's backstage.

Kilts are fucking great.

They're even better when Ashton pulls him around a corner away from the other two and slides his hand up underneath Calum's kilt to grope clumsily at his thigh. 

“Bro,” Calum breathes, head thunking back against the wall. “Fucking sick show, yeah?”

“You look stupid in this,” Ashton mutters. The tips of his fingers worm their way under the tight cling of Calum's boxers, just resting there warm against his skin. Calum's dick is already starting to chub up, easy for it.

“Yeah?” Calum says. “So you don't wanna—?”

“Fuck off,” Ashton says, and grins that wide smile, the one that says, _let's have an adventure_. “Supply closet by the dressing room in five.”

He ducks in and bites into the thick muscle where Calum's shoulder meets his neck and Calum's whole body goes shivery hot around the flare of pressure there. It's not long enough for Calum's liking; it feels like Ashton barely touched him before he's stepping back, taking his hands and his smiling mouth with him. Calum gets his wits about him enough to answer Ashton's silent fist bump request, and then Ashton is ducking back into the main hallway and continuing on down towards their dressing rooms. 

Calum stays there to breathe for a moment, counting quietly up to one hundred before following Ashton. 

He's been doing this stuff with Ashton for a few weeks now, ever since they were both cooped up in a hotel room and decided to watch porn together and help each other out. Someone else's hand always feels better, and it's a pretty seamless arrangement. They understand each other. Michael and Luke probably wouldn't understand though, so it's sort of a secret. It's not like, a thing, it's just...it's their stress reliever, not anyone else's, and Calum's fine with it that way. 

Maybe the secrecy is a little hot too. Maybe. 

When Calum gets to the closet, Ashton isn't there yet, so he moves some brooms and a huge vaccuum cleaner to get a nice open space around the right wall where he can lean and stretch his legs out a little. It's ridiculously easy to spread his legs in the kilt, thighs falling open like he's wearing nothing at all, only the brush of fabric on the outside of his legs there to remind him that he's technically decent. Something about it seems dirty—he squeezes a little at his dick through the kilt, thinking about girls in skirts, thinking about wearing a proper skirt himself, thinking about Ashton's legs in his kilt. He looks all kinds of manly, which is maybe weird for Calum to think but...but hey, kilts are for men! It only makes sense that Ashton would look good. 

Calum's kilt makes him feel manly too, but also kind of slutty.

The door opens a crack and Ashton slips in, giggling and holding up a finger to his mouth like Calum's going to scream or something. Calum grins back and takes a step forward to crowd into Ashton's space, pressing his body up along Ashton's side, bumping into him because it's the best way to say _I've missed you, come here_. There's a few fumbling, clicking noises—Ashton fucking with the lock on the door, probably—and then Ashton's giving into the insistence of Calum's body, surging into him and pressing Calum back against the wall. 

They don't really need to speak for this because they both know the drill by now. They've gotta be fast and they've gotta be quiet, and there's no need for politeness or working up to it—they get down to it straight away, getting their legs laced together so they each have something solid to grind their dicks against. The kilts feel kind of ridiculous flapping around their knees with every move they make, and Calum has to stifle a laugh in Ashton's shoulder, but heat is still coursing through his body, his dick slowly getting all the way hard. Ashton's ahead of him; Calum can feel how big and hard he already is, like he got like that just thinking about this out in the hallway, and it makes Calum shiver, makes him push his thigh up harder so Ashton can fuck down onto it, rub that thick cock all over Calum's leg. It's muted through the kilts though, and Calum's frustrated for only a split second before he realizes how simple it is to fix that—he reaches between them and yanks both of their kilts up so all that's between them is the thin fabric of their boxers, and suddenly it's ten times better. 

“That's convenient,” he whispers. 

“Don't talk to me about convenient,” Ashton mutters. “All I could fucking think with you in this was just—” He bites off the end of his sentence, suddenly sliding his hands down from Calum's hips right up under the kilt, grabbing Calum's ass. Calum jerks forward in shock, dick jumping hard at the touch; Ashton got over the idea that butt-touching was gay about a week and a half ago, but he's never this upfront about it. Ashton squeezes a little, and Calum sort of dies in hot-faced excitement. 

“God,” Ashton says thickly. “Easy access.”

A wave of hot and cold shudders from Calum's stomach out through his whole body and he bites down on Ashton's shoulder to muffle the stupid whine in his throat. 

“Could fuck you just like this,” Ashton says, quick and quiet. 

They've done that only twice now, and each time Calum thinks it's going to be the time that Ashton calls it quits—Calum's cool about it because he knows that it's hard to find a girl for a one night thing who will be willing to peg him, and if he's got a buddy to help him out, why not, but Ashton gets twitchy about it usually. Him bringing it up—asking for it—makes Calum feel crazy. A second ago he was happy just to rub off on Ashton, but now— 

“You got—?”

“Yeah.”

Ashton takes his hands away from Calum's ass to fumble with something behind him and then he's pressing a bottle of lube into Calum's hands. 

“I don't have a condom,” he mumbles. “Couldn't find it quick enough, had to get out of the dressing room before Mikey and Luke said anything to me, is it—?”

Calum's nodding before Ashton's even done his sentence, frantic with it. It'll be messy, but he and the boys get tested fairly regularly and he knows Ashton hasn't slept with anyone but him for a month. He's never done it like that before; Ashton's the only guy he's ever fucked. He doesn't know whether the idea of Ashton's come in him is hot or gross, but his dick is hard and he wants it so bad that he's not going to stop to question things. 

Calum shimmies his boxers down to his feet and kicks them off, his dick tenting out the front of the kilt. He squeezes some lube onto his fingers and gets himself ready as fast as he can, fingers awkward and cramped between his legs. Ashton's always been too squeamish to help with this part, too concerned with keeping some sort of “boundaries”, but he seems to have forgotten some of that hesitance now; he lifts Calum's kilt so he can watch, his eyes intent, mouth hanging slack. 

“I'm good,” Calum says when he can't take it anymore. He probably isn't quite ready, his ass aching vaguely, but he kind of likes it like that anyway. 

He pulls his fingers out slowly, and Ashton crowds back in between his legs again, reaching underneath his own kilt to strip his own boxers off. There's some juggling of lube and kilts and then there's a hand spread on the back of Calum's right thigh, lifting him. Calum slides on the wall, off-balance, and wraps his arms around Ashton's neck to stabilize himself. His wet hand smears against Ashton's skin and Ashton doesn't even say anything, clearly too frantic. They're face to face, closer than they usually are when they do this, and Calum can't look away, staring at Ashton's red cheeks, his tongue sticking out between his teeth, his forehead wrinkled in concentration as he stares down between them. One of Calum's feet is planted on the ground, the other held up by Ashton's grasp on his leg. He feels like he's going to fall over, like he's going to burst into weird, awkward laughter—and then the wet head of Ashton's dick is nudging against his ass, Ashton's hand curled around to steady it, feed it in. There's a split second where it simply won't go in, skidding frustrating and hot over Calum's hole, and then Ashton's hitching Calum up more securely on the wall and sinking him slowly down onto his dick, an even, burning push to fill up all the empty spaces in him. 

A huge breath of air leaves Calum's lungs all at once, like there's no room for anything in him with Ashton's cock there. He can vaguely hear Ashton panting, the sound coming at him as if from a great distance, but all he can do is sink his fingers into Ashton's shoulders and just focus on how spread he feels around Ashton's cock, how full. Ashton shifts a little, his dick pushing up more into Calum, and Calum clenches around him instinctively, shuddering. This is exactly what he was needing the whole encore, feeling strange and exposed and free in his kilt. 

“Fuck,” Ashton slurs. His mouth is at Calum's neck, and the word is humid and warm against Calum's skin. Ashton gives a shove up with his hips and Calum bites down on a cry. “You feel so—”

He starts to seesaw in and out, more a slow churn of his dick in Calum's ass than proper thrusting. It still feels crazy good, and Calum lets his head fall back against the wall, eyes closed. Ashton is biting at his neck and both of his hands have slid back to Calum's ass, fingers digging in almost painfully.

Calum's on his tip toes on the one foot that still has contact with the ground, and since he's getting shoved further up the wall with every move Ashton makes, he gives up on that, swinging both legs around Ashton's hips and trusting Ashton not to drop him. Ashton staggers for a second, caught mid-thrust so his cock punches up hard into Calum, and then it's like some switch flicks in him: he slams Calum back against the wall, rattling everything hard enough that a broom falls to the ground somewhere behind them, and pins him there with his shoulders, fucking in like he's going crazy for it, fast and jagged. Calum's shoulders are knocking against the wall and his heels are digging into Ashton's back and Ashton's nailing him just right, his cock sliding against Calum's prostate again and again like he's some kind of ass fucking prodigy. It sounds crude and obvious, the whole closet filled with the slick sounds of Calum's ass sucking in Ashton's dick and Calum making stupid, surprised noises in the back of his throat with each thrust. Ashton's grunting into his neck, like a caveman, like a manly, manly caveman, and he's holding Calum up and fucking him so good Calum feels wrecked by it, taken over, helpless, his own cock swollen and neglected between them, so fucking hard pressed against his kilt. He opens his eyes and stares blankly past Ashton's fluffy head, thinking about getting off with a girl at a club, sliding his dick in her with her skirt still on, so hot for it, and now—now he's the girl, and that thought is enough to make him feel like he's about to shoot off right now, with Ashton's cock inside him and no one touching his dick. 

He's never come that way, not even the first time a girl pegged him and he discovered how fucking amazing it felt. 

He realizes distantly that he's saying Ashton's name, over and over, panting it, and that's not a very bro-sex kind of thing to be doing, but he can't help it—it sounds right in his mouth and Ashton's doing so good and he needs to be complimented in some way—

“Jesus, be quiet,” Ashton groans, and then—

There's voices in the hall outside, Michael laughing distantly and Luke chattering away about something, and Ashton freezes with his prick wedged deep in Calum's ass. Calum's heart almost stops—how could he have forgotten that they're backstage at a venue, that they need to be quick and quiet, that no one can catch them like this? His cock throbs hard against his stomach and he hides his face in Ashton's hair, trying to calm down. Ashton's arms are shaking from holding him up for so long. 

The voices get closer and closer, and then someone's pounding on the door of the closet. Ashton jerks in surprise, cock forced even deeper into Calum, and Calum claps a hand over his own mouth to cover up the moan climbing its way up his throat. With Ashton so still, somehow the feeling of his cock is even heavier, the heat of it and the stretched muscles clutching around it radiating out through his whole body. His ass won't stop squeezing Ashton's cock, like it desperately needs to get fucked and can't take the pause.

“Oi! Ashton! Calum! You in there?” 

It's Michael. Calum's known him for almost his whole life but he doesn't know that Calum does this, and if he gets in now he's going to have front-row tickets to it. God. Calum's whole body feels weak, and he can't cover his mouth anymore. He slumps back against the wall, and Ashton's eyes meet his, just as panicked. 

“If you guys are, we gotta get going, like bus call is in ten,” Michael continues, and the dissonance of hearing his voice while Calum's got a cock shoved up his ass is almost as good as a hand on his dick. He stares at Ashton in terror, not knowing how to communicate “I'm going to come, I'm going to fucking blow it” without speaking, and then something in Ashton's face goes curiously sideways, blank almost, and he—

He eases his dick halfway out and thrusts back in, slow and silent.

“Michael, why would they be in there?” Luke's voice chimes in and Calum has to close his eyes, unable to look at Ashton while he's feeling so flayed open. Ashton keeps sliding his dick in and out, just a tiny rocking motion that barely moves them, barely makes any sound, and even if Calum had the strength in his arms to touch his cock, it wouldn't be necessary—Ashton feels too good in him and their best friends are five feet away and have no idea that Calum's about to come on Ashton's cock. 

“I don't know, Luke, we couldn't find them anywhere else.”

“We could try the loading bay again, come on.”

“Alright, alright,” says Michael, and that's it, Calum's done, he's gonna— “Coming, Jesus.”

It feels like Calum comes from the bottom of his feet up, his entire body shaking with it as his cock twitches untouched and spits out pulse after pulse of come into his kilt. Ashton's cock feels huge in him, fucking him through it, and Calum's gasping, unable to care about how loud he might be. Let them all in, let them all know, let them all see him with his kilt flipped up and Ashton's prick stretching him open, fucking him like he's a girl, let them all see how much he wants it, because he does, he wants it so bad, he loves it—

He can feel come sliding thick and gross down the spine of his dick, and the fabric of the kilt is suddenly harsh against his softening cock. He can't hear anybody outside anymore, and it's probably good, because Ashton's gone nuts, drilling into him like he always does when he's close. Calum lets it happen, lets himself be jostled around, fucked like a ragdoll, like it's just what he's there for—Ashton was weird about it the first time, all apologetic, all “was that okay”, but now he knows that Calum likes it, and it's so good Calum would come again if he wasn't so tired he was about to slide off the wall. His entire body is shivering, oversensitive, like he doesn't have any control over it, but when Ashton grinds hard against his ass and moans into Calum's neck, he gets his wits about him enough to clench his ass around Ashton's twitching dick and help him get off. 

He thought he would be able to feel Ashton coming in him, but he can't—just Ashton's dick swelling vaguely. He determinedly does not feel let down about that. 

“God,” Ashton says thickly, hips ticking against Calum's ass as he comes. “Calum, Calum, God, I—I love—I—”

Something in Calum's chest jumps hard, but Ashton just makes a frustrated noise and bites down on Calum's shoulder. Calum pats weakly at his sweaty head, staring off at the wall of shelves opposite them. His entire mind feels blank and pleasant and confused, kind of like he's high.

Ashton keeps holding him up for a moment longer, and then slowly, jerkily, eases him down so Calum can get his feet on the ground. He pulls out carefully, and it feels gross, come leaking out down Calum's thigh almost as soon as Ashton's dick isn't plugging it up in him. He feels weak and achy all over.

“Fuck,” Calum says, wobbling on unsteady legs.

“Yeah,” Ashton says, swallowing hard. 

They both start looking around for their boxers at the same time. Ashton gets them first and hands Calum's to him, without really making eye contact. The atmosphere feels weird, and Calum doesn't really know why—this is the best buddy sex he's ever had though, and he can't let that be ruined. 

“Jesus, do you always come that much?” he asks jokingly, tugging on his boxers. “It feels like I'm dripping everywhere.”

Ashton wrinkles his nose, but smiles a little. “No one needed to know that, bro.”

Calum punches him on the arm. “Fuck off, man, it's your come.”

A laugh seems to stick in Ashton's throat. He's staring at Calum, a grin fading on his face, and Calum can't help but step closer, trying to see him better in the dim light. He looks—he's looking at Calum like—

“We gotta get back,” Ashton says abruptly, stepping away from Calum. “Leave a minute or so after me, 'kay?” 

He holds out his hand for a fist bump. Calum just stares at it for a second before he gets with the program and pounds it with his fist. Bros. Right. 

Ashton ducks out the door and closes it behind him, and Calum slumps against the wall. For a second there it had looked like Ashton was going to...kiss him, and that's something they don't do. He's not sure, but he thinks maybe the cold feeling in the pit of his stomach is disappointment. 

He looks down at his kilt and his bare legs peeking out from under it, and pushes away the dumb thoughts. There's not even a mark on the front of his kilt where he came—these things are hardcore and manly as hell and kind of made for getting fucked in. He's just spent the last ten minutes getting absolutely wrecked, and he never even had to take it off. Full up on come and he could walk down the hallway just like this and no one would know.

If Calum's grinning when he pushes the door open and heads down to the dressing room, well, why wouldn't he be? Kilts are fucking awesome.


End file.
